


please don't go

by AliuIce0814



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Author is trans, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Bathing/Washing, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Tender Sex, Trans Male Character, Trans Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 05:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20868620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliuIce0814/pseuds/AliuIce0814
Summary: After Steve goes up against Thanos, Bucky takes care of him.





	please don't go

**Author's Note:**

> Steve is trans. He's had top surgery (probably at the same time as he got serumed up) but not bottom surgery. In this fic, his genitals are referred to as a dick and a cunt.

By the time Bucky climbs out of the shower at Stark’s lakehouse, he almost feels human again. Steve’s left him clothes, a loose t-shirt and sweatpants that Steve must usually wear when he’s jogging. Bucky pauses halfway through pulling the shirt over his head and inhales. It smells kind of flowery, not like the soap flakes Steve used to use for laundry, but under that it smells like Steve, too. Bucky inhales again, remembering how Steve did the same to him when he pulled him into a hug before Bucky headed off for a shower. Steve had tucked his face right against Bucky’s neck and breathed in, digging his fingers into the fabric of Bucky’s bulletproof vest. He’d been shaking.

Five years. Bucky’s apparently been gone for five years, and that after Bucky’s long turn with Hydra. No wonder Steve’s legs shook while he clutched Bucky. Bucky barely remembers Thanos snapping him away--just that he’d felt woozy all of a sudden, bad enough that he’d called Steve’s name, and then the next thing he knew he was getting launched through one of that wizard’s portals and onto a totally different battlefield. But for Steve--for Steve, five years had passed between the snap and now. 

Five years. Half a decade. So much happened in that time. Bucky lets the shirt drop over his head and smooths it out. Used to be, his shirts would swamp Steve. Now they’re the same size. 

Voices echo just outside the bedroom. Bucky finishes toweling off his hair and throws the towel at the hamper. It drops in perfectly--he can’t miss, not anymore. He wishes he could. By the time he crosses from the bathroom and into the main part of the guest bedroom, Steve’s coming in through the door. 

“--don’t worry about it, Sam, I’ll take care of it after the funeral,” he’s saying, head tilted back toward the hall. 

“You sure?” Sam asks. 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll see you in the morning.” Steve shuts the door. For a moment, he stands completely still, muscles tense beneath his torn and bloodstained uniform. He blinks at Bucky from under the cowl. “Buck,” he says, voice rising at the end like a question. He takes a couple of steps toward Bucky, then stops, swallowing hard. Bucky’s fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him. 

“Hey, pal,” Bucky says quietly. Steve blinks again, harder this time, then yanks off his cowl and starts toward Bucky. Bucky grabs Steve’s outstretched arms before he can pull him into a hug. “Hang on, wait,” he says. Steve’s face crumples. “No, listen, I want to hug you, but you reek. Okay? You fuckin’ stink.” Steve’s mouth wobbles with something halfway between a smile and the start of tears. “Go take a shower.”

“I, uh.” Steve scratches his head. “Dunno if I can stand that long,” he admits. 

Bucky notices how he’s favoring his left leg, how his right leg’s trembling a little. He rubs his thumbs in circles against Steve’s stained-gray wrists. His poor Stevie, getting the shit kicked out of him. Bucky should take care of him. The tight, hot feeling in his chest demands it. Bucky’s mouth runs on ahead of him and says, “Then let me give you a bath."

"What?" Steve's blinking like he's deciding if he misheard Bucky. Bucky rubs the suddenly-hot back of his neck, ready to backtrack, when Steve sways. Bucky lurches forward and wraps an arm around his waist just in time for Steve to sag against him. Steve makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. "Sorry."

Bucky can feel Steve's muscles tensing up like he's getting ready to push himself upright again. Fuck that. Bucky keeps a firm grip around Steve's waist. "Stevie. You're exhausted and you look like shit."

"Thanks," Steve says dryly. 

“Let me take care of you. Come on,” Bucky wheedles. “It’ll be just like when we were kids, except we’ve got a real tub instead of a bucket.”

Steve startles. “You remember that?” he rasps. 

“Sure,” Bucky says. The memory’s fuzzy not in the way of the ones that were taken from him but in the way that most childhood memories are, but still. Ma dragged out the old metal plunge tub--or maybe Steve’s ma did? Their apartments, across the hall from each other, were so similar that it all gets mixed up in his head. One of the moms boiled water on the stove while another one stripped the kids. Steve always ran, squealing, until someone caught him and dunked him into the quickly-cooling water beside Bucky. They’d splash around, get their heads scrubbed, dunk toy boats together until one day it stopped. Probably one of them had noticed how the other one’s body looked different, or one of the moms just got nervous about putting what looked like a boy and a girl in a tub together. “I’ll even keep the soap outta your ears.” 

Bucky’s not really expecting it to work, so when Steve shuffles into the bathroom, it takes him a second to follow. Steve’s slowly stripping out of his shredded-up uniform, cringing as the kevlar sticks to dried blood. Bucky moves to help him, but Steve waves him off, so Bucky ignores the gnawing in his chest and busies himself with filling the enormous tub. 

He turns his back to let Steve climb in--they used to see each other naked all the time, but they haven't since '45, and Bucky has no idea what Steve's going to be comfortable with. Maybe should have thought that through before he got Steve in the tub, he admits, then shrugs to himself and turns to face Steve again. 

Steve's slumped in the tub, long legs splayed out, head lolling back against the white wall and eyes closed. Bucky's throat tightens. He clears it and grabs a couple of fluffy white washcloths off the rack. Steve blinks his eyes open when Bucky kneels on the bath mat. "Hair first," Bucky says. The water's already a little gray from all the smoke and grime that clung to Steve. He's going to have to drain the tub and refill it a few times to get Steve clean. He reaches out and nudges Steve's head. "Get your hair wet."

Steve slips under the water, knees bunching up to fit in the tub as he dunks his head. Bucky can’t help but to look at the pale shape of him under the water. When Steve pops up again, scrubbing his eyes, his hair’s dark with water. Bucky grabs a couple of brightly-colored bottles of shampoo from the shelf over the toilet and examines them. Most of the scents make his nose itch when he pops the caps and sniffs them, but the lavender-scented one stings the least. He holds the bottle up to Steve’s nose. “This okay?” he asks. Steve inhales, then nods. One of his hands moves idly through the water. His heavy-lidded eyes look a million miles away. 

Steve shudders through a sigh the moment Bucky starts rubbing shampoo through his hair. Bucky watches his shoulders drop, the tension easing out of his muscles, while Bucky rubs circles at his temples. He’s careful to cover Steve’s hair with shampoo, even petting bubbles behind his ears. He’s got such pretty ears, so delicate even now when they’re bruised from Steve getting his head banged around in his cowl. Bucky strokes his thumb along the curve of one ear until Steve shivers. “Okay, rinse.” 

Gray water sluices off of Steve’s back when he brings his soap-free head out of the tub. The water clumps his long pretty eyelashes. When Bucky wipes the washcloth along Steve’s forehead and cheeks, the cloth comes away stained red and brown. One particularly nasty slice along Steve’s chin hasn’t healed yet. Steve tenses when Bucky presses the washcloth against it and starts rubbing out the dirt. “I know it hurts,” Bucky soothes. “But I gotta get this dirt out, pal. Don’t want you getting an infection.” The words slide out of him easy as anything, emerging from some ancient part of his brain that never forgot a single detail about his old life with Steve. He used to clean him up all the time, didn’t he? After all his fights. Fuckin’ Steve, always getting himself into dumb shit. Never knowing when to back down from a fight. Bucky catches Steve’s chin in his hand and turns his face left and right, examining his work. Steve swallows. 

The water’s practically mud at this point, and Bucky’s only washed Steve’s head. “I gotta drain this, honey,” he says. Steve nods and moves his feet out of the way so Bucky can pull the plug on the drain. The dirty water swirls away unnaturally fast--must be something Stark did to the tub. Bucky waits until all the dirt is gone to plug up the tub again and turn on the water. He half-expects it to come out cold, but it’s as warm as even when it refills the tub. Something else Stark designed, probably. Steve stares at the water as it steadily rises over his stomach. His eyes are unfocused. 

“Hey,” Bucky says. He waits until Steve turns his head his direction to start scrubbing his shoulders. He knows better than to spook him. He runs a fresh cloth down Steve’s arms. After a little thought, he takes Steve’s hands and carefully wipes each of his fingers and the webbing between them, too. It’s hard not to kiss Steve’s bruised knuckles. Steve’s fingers twitch in Bucky’s grasp, then squeeze, and Bucky gives into the urge. When his lips brush Steve’s fingers, Steve lets out a tiny sob. 

“S’okay,” Bucky says softly. He kisses Steve’s swollen knuckles before gently placing his hands back in the tub. He swirls the cloth around in the water for a second, then pours more soap on it. He rubs circles on Steve’s bruised stomach with the soapy cloth. Every once in a while, his hands accidentally brush that warm, wet skin. If Steve notices, he doesn’t mention it; he doesn’t say anything until Bucky freezes just south of his chest. 

Steve glances down, taking in the pecs underscored by two faint scars. “You can,” he says hoarsely. “You can touch me there now. I don’t mind.” 

Bucky runs the cloth over Steve’s chest slowly, reverently. Before, when Steve tied his chest down with bandages or, in lean years, strips of cloth, Bucky only touched his chest on rare occasions. Bucky understands the gift Steve’s giving him, the trust. He makes sure he gets every inch of Steve’s chest clean, then his armpits. Steve watches him the whole time with heavy blue eyes. 

By the time Bucky’s done with Steve’s torso, the water’s murky again. “Gotta drain again,” Bucky says, only to be cut off by the press of Steve’s lips against the corner of his mouth. It’s a fraction of a second of contact, no heat behind it, but Bucky still inhales sharply and catches Steve’s closest arm. 

“Buck.” Steve tips his head against Bucky’s chest. His wet hair immediately sets a damp patch growing on Bucky’s shirt, but Bucky doesn’t care. He runs his fingers through that hair, made dark by water. They stay there for a minute, the only sounds their breathing and the occasional drip from the tap. Without jostling Steve too much, Bucky manages to reach down and pull the plug out of the drain. Steve presses another kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth while the water swirls away. His hands steady when he touches Bucky’s cheek, but his mouth’s wobbling. “Bucky.”

Bucky hushes him. “Sit up, honey,” he says. Steve does so reluctantly. Once the tub’s full again--the water’s still warm--Bucky grabs another clean cloth. He washes Steve’s feet first, working his way up his ankles and calves and knees--just as bruised as they used to be, but not knobbly anymore. He switches cloths when he reaches Steve’s thighs. Bucky’s hands tremble just a little bit, running the cloth over those powerful muscles. He moves higher and higher until he’s just below the thatch of reddish-gold hair. 

Bucky swallows. “D’you wanna finish up washing yourself, or--”

Steve’s broad hand presses Bucky’s against him. Bucky inhales sharply, dropping the cloth against Steve’s thigh and cupping his hand around Steve’s mound. He just holds him for a second, taking deliberate, even breaths. Steve lets out a soft sound. His thighs spread a little, just as much as the tub allows. Bucky slots his thumb along Steve, feeling the head of his little dick and the spot where he’s slick. He can feel that even in the water. 

“Stevie,” Bucky rasps. They ain’t done anything like this since 1945. He didn’t know he was allowed. He didn’t know that Steve knew he remembered. “Are you sure--”

“Ask me if I’m sure, and I’ll dunk you.” One of Steve’s hands comes up to Bucky’s head, threatening. His mouth’s twitching in something that would be a smile if it didn’t look so damn sad. “Please.”

Bucky takes a shaking breath. “Yeah, okay, let me just--let’s get you outta here, okay? You’re gonna get all pruny. Here.” It takes all of his willpower to move his hand away from Steve’s cunt and grab a fluffy towel off the rack. Everything here is so damn nice, so much nicer than Bucky deserves but not nearly good enough for Steve. Steve deserves the fucking world. He looks so damn tired. 

Bucky kneels at Steve’s feet to towel him dry. He rises up on his knees to reach his stomach and arms, which puts Steve’s patch of curls right at eye level. Bucky’s mouth waters. Before he can overthink it, he drops the towel and sucks Steve’s perfect little inch-long dick into his mouth. Steve rocks onto his toes and grabs Bucky’s head with both hands. “Fuck,” he hisses out. Bucky feels his dick twitch on his tongue. Steve’s hands squeeze against his skull before he seems to remember himself and lets go. Bucky drops back onto his heels and licks his lips. God, he’d forgotten how good Steve tastes, that salty tang just barely mixed with soap. 

“Remember the first time you let me do that?” Bucky asks, a little out of breath.

Steve nods. His mouth works for a moment before he finally manages, “You were an asshole about it then, too.” 

Bucky chokes on a laugh. It sounds wrong, echoing in this bathroom, contrasting with the five long years’ worth of worry lines on Steve’s forehead, but Steve’s smiling a little too. He tugs on Bucky’s hair.    


Bucky stands in one fluid motion and grabs Steve’s hand. He drags him into the bedroom in a manhandling way that Steve never would’ve put up with when he was skinny. Now, though, he allows Bucky to roll him onto the soft mattress. His hands immediately find the hem of Bucky’s borrowed shirt. When Bucky tries to gently push his hands away--this is about Steve, not him--Steve grips the hem so tightly that it tears. 

The rough ripping sound makes them both freeze. Steve’s eyes darken. His pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. “S’my shirt,” he says roughly, shrugging with one shoulder. He twists the hem and yanks until the shirt’s torn in half, top to bottom. Bucky’s stomach floods with heat as Steve shoves the shirt off his shoulders and rubs his face against Bucky’s chest like a cat. Bucky can just barely feel the rasp of stubble against his pecs. Steve’s warm breaths puff against his nipples. 

“Honey,” Bucky says, overwhelmed. He wasn’t paying much attention to his own dick earlier, he was so focused on taking care of Steve, but it’s hard and wet in his sweatpants. Steve’s sweatpants, Steve’s clothes on him, Jesus. Steve latches onto one of Bucky’s nipples and sucks hard. Bucky shoves his hand in his mouth and bites down to muffle a groan. Can’t make noise when the whole house is grieving. 

“Bucky,” Steve whispers, sucking red lovebites all across Bucky’s chest. “Bucky, Bucky.” He rubs his face against Bucky again, leaving behind wet traces of tears. 

“I got you, baby doll,” Bucky says, “I’m right here.” 

Steve lets out a tiny cry and bites down on Bucky’s shoulder. When Bucky hisses at the sudden sting, Steve pulls back quickly and kisses the imprints his teeth left in Bucky’s skin. “‘M sorry.”

“I’m here,” Bucky repeats, kissing Steve’s forehead, his nose, his wet cheeks. Steve grabs him by his neck and drags him down for a kiss, all tongue and heat, and Bucky can’t help rolling their hips together. Steve wraps a leg around one of Bucky’s and tugs him closer that way, rubbing against his sweatpants with a groan. Bucky presses a hand over his mouth. “You’re always so goddamn loud,” he hisses, but the effect is probably ruined by the kisses he showers on Steve’s chin and neck. 

Steve sets his teeth against Bucky’s palm, just a warning of a bite, until Bucky moves his hand away. “Bucky,” he says, grinding hard against Bucky’s thigh. When he touches Bucky’s cheek, his hand’s shaking. 

“I got you. Look at you.” There’s a dark wet patch on Bucky’s sweatpants where Steve’s been rubbing himself off. “You want it bad, huh, doll?”

“Want  _ you _ .” Steve cants his hips up, trying to get more friction. Bucky slides a hand between them, slotting his thumb along Steve’s cunt and sweet little cock the way he did in the bath. Steve’s so much wetter now; it would hardly take anything for Bucky to push his thumb into him. But Steve hasn’t asked for that. He might be okay with Bucky touching his chest now, but Bucky’s not gonna go inside him without asking. Steve seems too desperate to wait around for that anyway. He rocks frantically against Bucky’s thumb, every breath coming out as a whine. Steve blinks hard once, twice, and then suddenly his face collapses into tears. 

“Honey,” Bucky says, startled. He moves to take his hand away, but Steve grabs his wrist tight and shakes his head. “Honey, you’re hurting.”

“‘M not.” 

Bucky’s chest clenches. When he doesn’t move his hand, Steve moves it for him, guiding his fingers along his slit and then pulling them, wet, up to rub his dick. “Okay, okay.” Steve’s whimpering, thighs already tight and shivering. Bucky can’t tell if the sounds he’s making are wound-up noises or crying ones. He swallows and glances down at where Steve’s fingers are wrapped around his wrist. An idea forms. “If you let go of my wrist, I’m stopping,” Bucky says. “Understand?” 

Steve nods quickly. Tears keep rolling down his face, but he grips Bucky’s wrist tightly. He keeps rubbing himself off on Bucky’s hand, gasping every time Bucky’s finger catches on his dick. Bucky’s ribs ache every time Steve makes a little whiny sound. He kisses Steve’s cheek to try and slow his tears. 

Steve curves Bucky’s fingers until they nearly dip inside of him. Bucky’s abruptly thrown back to ‘41 or ‘42, Steve riding his fingers with one hand braced on the metal headboard of Bucky’s twin bed, sweat dripping down his face and pooling on his chest. Bucky grits his teeth and lets Steve keep guiding his fingers from his slit to his dick even though all he wants to do is push two fingers into Steve’s tight heat and force one of those deep, chest-rattling groans out of him. 

“Bucky,” Steve whines. He grabs Bucky by the scruff--Bucky swallows back a moan--and drags him into a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. He’s shuddering with each pass of Bucky’s fingers over his dick. His drying hair sticks up in every direction. Bucky wants to brush it, wants to wash Steve’s face again so he’s free of tears, wants to bend down and suck Steve’s perfect little dick until he comes. He fucks Steve’s mouth with his tongue instead, feeling his fingers get slicker with each pass from Steve’s slit to his dick until suddenly Steve’s pressing Bucky’s fingers down hard against the head of it. 

“Yeah,” Bucky gasps, red-faced and breathless. “Yeah, honey, that’s it--” Steve’s face is tight with concentration as he rubs Bucky’s fingers against his dick with more and more pressure and less and less finesse. Bucky props himself on his free arm to watch as Steve’s muscles lock up and his face goes lax. There’s a moment of total quiet other than the slick sound of Bucky stroking Steve off before Steve’s mouth drops open in a deep, full-throated groan of relief. Quickly, Bucky grabs Steve by the shoulders and rolls him over so at least some of the sound is muffled by Bucky’s chest. “Noisy fucker, Jesus, you’re so good, that’s okay, honey,” Bucky soothes, laughing as Steve shudders through the last of his orgasm. 

Steve’s broad chest heaves against Bucky. Bucky runs a hand up and down Steve’s sweat-slick back, which is the only way he can feel when Steve speaks. “Wha’sat?” he asks. 

For a moment, Steve doesn’t move aside from pressing his face into the crook of Bucky’s shoulder and planting a kiss there. Then he pops up his head, and Bucky’s breath catches in his throat. Under those tear-clumped eyelashes, Steve’s got the hungriest eyes Bucky’s ever seen on him. “Said I want you.”

Bucky nearly asks Steve if he’s sure, but before he can open his mouth, Steve’s kissing him, sliding his hands just under the waistband of Bucky’s sweatpants and rubbing circles on Bucky’s hips. Bucky sighs into his mouth. “Anything, doll. Anything.” 

“Lemme see you.” Steve grabs the waistband of Bucky’s sweatpants and tugs. The hem makes an ominous popping sound. Bucky swats Steve’s hand away. 

“Stop tearing shit up, Rogers, gimme a second.” Bucky shimmies out of his borrowed sweatpants. His dick pops up, slapping briefly against his stomach. Bucky flushes, but he only has half a second to be embarrassed before Steve wraps his hand around his cock. Bucky quickly bites his hand to muffle a moan. “Sweetheart,” he drawls around his hand. 

Steve’s mouth quirks. “Yeah?” He rubs his thumb over the head of Bucky’s cock. Bucky jerks in his grip. “Can I….”

Bucky waits through a couple of his own heaving breaths before he prompts, “Yeah?” He can feel his pulse in his dick. 

“Just--” Steve guides Bucky’s dick between his thighs and carefully squeezes them around him. Bucky’s breath comes out in a whining rush. Steve’s thighs are so wet with his slick that when Bucky slowly rocks his dick between them, it almost feels like he’s fucking inside him. “Yeah,” Steve says, gripping Bucky’s hips. “Like that, Buck, just like that.” 

Steve’s tight thighs feel like a fucking revelation around Bucky’s cock. Every time Steve tenses them, it’s nearly as good as his cunt clenching around Bucky. Bucky’s helpless but to fuck between those thighs, gritting his teeth to hold back any sounds. He’s grateful this is a nice bed, not the creaking metal one they had in the tenement. He doesn’t want to interrupt the rest of the house’s mourning. 

But this is a way of coping with grief, too, one that every one of Steve’s shivering kisses begs for. They’ve done this before, or something like it--after Steve’s ma died, before Bucky shipped out, right after Azzano--pressing together, skin to skin, tasting each other’s sweat and tears. Steve rubs his thumbs in circles against the soft skin above Bucky’s hips and pulls a moan out of him. Bucky’s hips stutter, making him change angles slightly, and suddenly he can feel Steve’s wet folds along the top of his dick. 

Now Bucky’s the one making too much noise, barely muffling a groan against Steve’s shoulder. “Stevie baby.”

Steve’s breath tips into sharp, wet gasps. He grabs Bucky’s metal hand and covers his mouth with it; Bucky can feel each one of his bitten-back whines vibrating against his palm. His cock jerks between Steve’s thighs, precum dripping and joining the slick mess that Steve’s making. His little dick’s hard as anything when Bucky carefully presses a thumb against it. Steve’s eyes roll back in his head. His teeth graze Bucky’s palm. He moves Bucky’s other hand away from his dick, then grabs Bucky by the ass and hauls him closer so that their dicks rub together with each thrust. 

“Baby doll,” Bucky whispers at Steve’s fluttering blond eyelashes, at the straining muscles of his abs and thighs. Steve’s close again, Bucky can tell from moans his palm barely muffles. “You’re so pretty, huh? Prettiest fuckin’ dick, look at you.  _ Fuck,  _ I missed you.” If it were anyone other than Steve beneath him, Bucky would be embarrassed by how his voice cracks. But Steve just nods, lips brushing Bucky’s palm, hips moving restlessly. Shudders wrack him. Bucky nuzzles against his throat. “C’mon,” he croons. “C’mon, let me see you, I know you wanna go again.” 

Steve tips his head back, separating his mouth from Bucky’s hand. Bucky thinks maybe he’s been smothering him until Steve wraps his mouth around two of Bucky’s fingers and sucks. “Oh  _ fuck _ ,” Bucky rasps, snapping his hips harder while Steve’s tongue licks between his fingers. He can’t feel it as strongly as he would in his other hand, but seeing Steve’s pink lips stretched around the metal makes him feel his pulse in his cock. Steve makes a sound that’s either a moan or a muffled laugh. “Shuddup,” Bucky says. Steve’s spit-slick mouth turns up around Bucky’s fingers in something that’s obviously a smile. Bucky rolls his eyes and yanks a wild strand of Steve’s hair. “You’re such a dick.” 

“Mm-hm,” Steve says. When Bucky’s cock catches against Steve’s again, Steve’s tongue gets sloppy. Another thrust, and he’s coming again, panting around Bucky’s fingers, hands scrabbling at Bucky’s back. As Steve settles, thighs falling apart a little, Bucky pulls his fingers out of Steve’s mouth and slowly wipes them on Steve’s chest. Steve sighs. 

“All done?” Bucky says softly, getting ready to pull back. Two orgasms has been enough to knock Steve out in the past. So Bucky’s breath catches when Steve grabs his hips and holds him right where he is. Ever so slightly, he squeezes his thighs. Bucky’s dick twitches. 

“Keep going,” Steve rasps. His fingers dig into Bucky’s hips until they start forming bruises. “Want you to. Want you to come on me.” 

Bucky shudders and nearly loses his balance. He doesn’t need any more encouragement to keep fucking between Steve’s thighs, moving easily through Steve’s slick and his own precum. Steve’s hands move around to Bucky’s ass, kneading and squeezing. Sweat rolls down his neck to pool in the dip of Steve’s collarbone. Bucky ducks his head to lick it up. He swallows down the salty taste. Steve whines, a high, tight, punched-out sound. Bucky can’t move fast enough to muffle it. “Noisy punk,” he says. Steve sobs. “Hey, hey, honey.”

“I thought you were  _ dead _ .” 

Steve’s tight hold on Bucky’s ass is the only thing that keeps Bucky from backing up. His goddamn heart squeezes so tight in his chest that he thinks he’s dying for a second. Steve sounds shattered in a way Bucky’s never heard before, not even after Steve’s ma died. Bucky doesn’t know how to fix this. It almost feels wrong to be fucking him, except when Bucky’s cock slides up enough to brush along Steve’s cunt, like he just might slide right into him, Steve throws his head back against the pillow. Bucky cups his hand over Steve’s mouth just in time to muffle a keening sound. 

“I know,” Bucky says. He keeps fucking along the seam of Steve’s cunt just to watch Steve’s eyes roll back. When he moves his hand, Steve pants. Every few strokes now Bucky’s shuddering, leaking with how close he is to coming. Steve lets go of his ass to grab him by the scruff and drag him down into a kiss that’s more breathing together than anything. “Honey, I know, I know, I’m sorry--”

“No, it was my fault, I didn’t--” 

“Shut up,” Bucky snaps. He punctuates it with a thrust that moves Steve up the bed. Steve grabs Bucky’s arms for balance. Bucky stares at where Steve’s long fingers close around his bicep and remembers that hand reaching for him--on the train in ‘45, on the Helicarrier, in Siberia, in the Wakandan jungle just a breath before some alien bastard snapped Bucky into ash. “You’ve always--always been takin’ care of me. You’ve always--oh shit,” Steve’s nipping the fragile skin of Bucky’s wrist, “None of it’s your fault. You hear me? Ain’t nobody better than you. God.” Steve’s lapping at his pulse. “Nobody.”

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” Steve gasps, and he doesn’t do this, he’s never talked like this during sex. He whines and groans and yells enough that Bucky used to make him bite the pillow so he’d shut up, but Steve doesn’t make conversation when he’s getting fucked. But the words keep spilling out of him, punctuated by muffled groans as Bucky keeps thrusting. Bucky’s helpless to do anything but cup Steve’s face in his hand and feel his puffing breath as he says, “I thought you were gone, Bucky, Bucky, I couldn’t do it again, I couldn’t-- _ fuck, there, please _ \--I tried to grab you but I couldn’t, you were just, you were gone and I-- _ Bucky, please _ \--”

Bucky kisses Steve’s nose, his eyebrows, his jaw. “Love of my fucking life,” Bucky whispers. That’s enough to set Steve off again, back bowing off the bed, thighs squeezing shut around Bucky’s dick. “Oh fuck,” Bucky chokes, and comes in hot spasms between Steve’s legs. Even before he’s done, Steve’s pulling him down by his shoulders so they’re chest-to-chest. Bucky’s dick twitches one last time when Steve kisses the juncture of his neck and jaw. “ _ Stevie _ .”

The minutes pass fuzzily. Bucky tangles his legs with Steve’s; Steve’s hand comes to rest on the back of Bucky’s neck. They breathe damply together, both trembling occasionally. They’re sweaty and sticky, but when Bucky moves to get a washcloth, Steve tightens his grip on his neck. “Don’t go,” he says, the most fragile Bucky’s ever heard him. 

Bucky rubs his thumb along Steve’s cheek, just below one of those deep purple circles beneath his eyes. Steve’s face is tacky from tears. He’s blinking hard, like he’s fighting to keep himself awake. Like maybe now that Bucky’s here, he’s slowly letting go of five years of grief. Bucky’s chest twists. “Okay, darlin’,” he says softly. “You can rest now. I’m gonna take care of you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if there are any typos or weird time jumps! I wrote this about a hundred words at a time at work.


End file.
